Animafest Zagreb Review: Samurai Ballerina is graceful and gracious

Depending on the day, if you ask me what my favorite movie of all time is, there's a decent chance I'll say Yoshifumi Kondō's gentle masterpiece Whisper of the Heart. (There's a reason it's the banner on this blog.) I felt some of that movie's DNA in Samurai Ballerina -L'etoile de Paris en fleur-, which is just about the highest compliment I can give a movie. While it didn't worm its way into my heart the way that Ghibli classic did, it still offered a sweet and supremely kindhearted story that goes to some unexpected places.

Samurai Ballerina subverted an expectation I had in a way that I found puzzling at first, but that proved to be thematically relevant, maybe even enriching. The film positions us at the beginning with Fujiko, a young girl attending a cultural event where she sees ballet for the first time. It's lighting her up creatively -- she's an artist, and she's imagining the drawings and paintings she might do of these ballerinas, and the ways she might be able to capture their grace and beauty. Down the row, we see another girl being affected in a similar way. We'll soon learn that she's Chizuru, the daughter a family that teaches naginata (a long sword based martial art) who has just been struck with a new dream: to become a ballerina.

Because we're initially introduced to Fujiko, and the film largely favors her POV for much of its runtime, I had an expectation that she was the film's main character. And she is one of them, but this is largely a story about and revolving around Chizuru. Even Fujiko's story is more about helping Chizuru (and her other friends and neighbors) than about what's going on in her life personally. I found it a bit odd, since Fujiko feels like the main character. But on further reflection, it feels right that the film works this way.

Like in Whisper of the Heart, Fujiko has a feeling of falling behind. She's watching her friends advance in their creative fields -- Chizuru with her ballet, and dreamy downstairs neighbor Ruslan with his piano -- while herself feeling stuck in a rut. She's lost her artistic spark, doesn't know what to draw or paint. She feels disappointed in herself, and frustrated, but she ultimately rallies and puts her energy into supporting the people around her and encouraging them to dream big and reach new creative heights, hoping (/knowing?) that someday she'll join them. It's a wonderful theme, and one we don't see often enough in movies: a main character taking on a (literal) supporting role, being active to help others achieve their goals while kind of stalling out on their own front.

And the film shows how doing so comes back around. When we surround ourselves with creative people, their successes and failures and struggles can in turn inspire us to get our own artistic gears going. I want more stories about creative friend groups!

While that's the core of the story here, it's all playing out on a fascinating stage. The film takes place in Paris in the 1910s. Japan has recently started opening up to the Western world, taking an interest in other art forms while starting to share theirs, as well. The cultural exchange feels a bit tentative, but very exciting. Some of the characters (particularly those belonging to the older generation) feel unsure about this new era of openness, curious about the outside world while also wanting to protect the traditions and art forms that make Japan so special.

Fumiko and Chizuru are right at the crossroads of tradition and modernity, Japanese culture and international influence. In Paris, they're surrounded by people from all walks of life, and from various ethnic backgrounds (Ruslan and his mother, for instance, are originally from Russia). Paris is alive with diversity, electrified by all these people coming in and pursuing their art, befriending each other, taking an interest in each other's cultures. 

But, of course, there's also a lot of racism. Chizuru faces blatant racism as she pursues ballet, as the citizens of Paris have never seen an Asian person pursue the art form. At her job at a restaurant, Fumiko is regularly referred to as "Asian" rather than by name by one of her coworkers, who tells her that she should never be seen by the customers. The film weaves these moments of microagressions and more blatant racism so naturally into the story and world, it always felt like a jolt, like this is just what they had to put up with day in and day out (and what many people still deal with when occupying spaces where "they don't belong").

Samurai Ballerina ultimately lands in a very cozy spot, tying up loose ends and giving as much of a happy ending as can probably be afforded in the shadow of World War I breaking out. If it's a bit neat and tidy for my taste, I find it easy to forgive, because the film feels like it's doing so in the hope of inspiring a more open and curious world, one in which people feel empowered to pursue their dreams and find communities full of diverse experiences and perspectives.